Frozen in Time
by saunatonttu
Summary: Five instances, five worlds. There's no end and no beginning for them. A small drabble collection, 10051, more or less. Rated T for mentions of violence and blood.


**A/N:** Hello again! I keep getting these spurts of inspiration for new stuff instead of new chapters of my multichaptered fics, so here you go - I put the blame on the fact that I managed to finish that 10,000+ oneshot monster recently and the way it has rejuvenated my writing muse.

These segments are all separate universes - some more connected than others, but still. Some of these are prompts from the lovely **IdyllicCritic** who still continues being one of my inspirations. Not all of these are your prompts, but most of them are.

I'm messing a bit with formatting with my recent stories, can you tell?

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_**frozen in time**_

_there's no clear beginning and end with us_

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_**i.** I will remake you as mine_

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Darkness envelopes the quarters of one Irie Shouichi, and only the blue light radiating from one Windows 7 laptop lights up the room – not that Shouichi notices this as his head is pressed sideways on the keyboard, mouth slightly agape and with drool trickling down to his chin.

Byakuran stares at the scene from the screen of his own computer, hands shoving marshmallows into his mouth-

_("Did you know I'm the master of chubby bunny?"_

"_...?" _

"_I can put fifteen into my mouth!"_

"_That's impossible, Byakuran-san."_)

-and his eyes half-lidded and lips set into a lazy smile as his finger gingerly traces at the screen.

"I will remake you as mine," Byakuran promises to the sleeping man on his screen as the pad of his forefinger pokes at the red head of his friend – the colour is barely visible in the darkness and the blue light sort of fades the colour away, but Byakuran knows. He knows the exact shade of Shouichi's hair – he knows the shade of green Shouichi's eyes are – he knows that behind that wary countenance, Shouichi has already betrayed him.

_("I'm actually impressed." _

"_Shee, I twold you sho!" _

_Green eyes squint with slight disgust and even smaller amount of amusement before they turn away, back to his work.)_

But Byakuran isn't mad – he isn't angry – he's just resigned to their fate.

_I'll remake you as mine,_ he promises again to the sleeping form of his former friend as his finger traces at the zoomed-in, blue and pallid cheek visible on his screen, and then he leans back, away from the laptop and against his chair, and marvels how certain things remain the same no matter the time period or universe.

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**ii. **_then, speak to me through flowers_

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He showers his Shou-chan with flowers – exquisite, colourful, _meaningful_ blossoms and petals – and Shouichi's reactions to them never fail to amuse him.

Purple lilacs, lobelias, mints; lavender roses, daffodils, _forget-me-nots_; flowers with multitude of meanings, with twisted meanings, with _pure_ meanings and intentions.

It's interesting, fascinating even, to spy on Shou-chan who tries to dissect each and every meaning of each bouquet of flowers Byakuran sends oh-so-casually with the smile of a Cheshire Cat (_mad-_mad-**mad** Cheshire Cat).

This time, he has sent his dear engineer – who is all the way in _Japan_, can you believe it? - a mountain of red tulips, and Byakuran still laughs about it because it's so straightforward and he knows that Shou-chan knows the meaning of red tulips without even looking it up.

What wouldn't he give to be there in person to see Shou-chan's cheeks turn faintly red and then his attempts to hide that with an epic change of topic from flowers to Vongola to Le Master Plan?

(_Even after all this time, Shou-chan still _**loves**_ him._)

What Byakuran, however, _doesn't_ expect is a return gift from Shouichi – and what's even more surprising that Shouichi sends him flowers, in return.

Byakuran is, quite frankly, flabbergasted. Mind-boggled, even-

.

(but not minducked, because it's him who does the mindfucking, _always_)

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-as he stares at the bouquet of honeysuckles that have been brought to him and which he has graciously accepted in the way that only a self-assured to-be-deity could manage.

He admires Shou-chan's taste – the petals are pale pink, almost _white_, and the flowers themselves are delicate, easy to crumble, easy to eradicate from existence like so many other things – for a short, quickly passing moment, before his lips curl into a wicked, almost haughty and definitely _naughty_ smile.

_(Devoted affection.)_

_(Bonds of Love.)_

Oh, Shou-chan – your lies are too forced.

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**iii **_I will drown this world in blood for you_

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Blood-_blood_-**blood.**

Blood as red as Shouichi's hair, as red as his suit jacket, and _it's everywhere._

He thinks he might faint – for as much as he has grown used to this scent and the sight of crimson red_, _this is the blood of his _only_ hope – but he doesn't, and his wobbly legs keep him up as he all but hyperventilates, as his mind tries to find a _reason_ for this utter _failure_ that his plan has become.

_(Corpses are littered all over this abandoned city with buildings taller than the Eiffel Tower in Paris.)_

It takes a moment to realize that the sounds of ragged breathing and swallowed sounds of pain come from his own throat – it makes no sense, he's physically _fine_, it's Tsunayoshi-kun and others that are impossibly

_**dead.**_

And even though this is not the end of the world-

**but it really is, Shouichi, it really _is_**

-he feels his own world crumbling into pieces, and maybe it's due to both to the dead bodies (dead, _still warm_, impossibly _red_) on the streets and Byakuran's giddy laughter that echoes off from the outer, hardened walls of the skyscrapers.

"I told you," Byakuran says breathlessly when he sobers up a bit, his head tilting to a side as a friendly (_mad_, **crazy**, lunatic) smile blooms on his lips.

_Blood _

_trickles down, and _

_your hope withers a little more._

"I told you, Shou-chan – it's no good, no good! You placed your bet on the losing horse."

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**iv: **_This key shall unlock your death._

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"The key will be death of you," Uni whispers, blue eyes deader than dead, as she shifts on her seat, robes shifting along with her movements, and she robotically tucks her cape neatly under her thighs.

Byakuran looks up. Uni-chan talking is terribly rare nowadays, and perhaps it is a pity and perhaps it is not (he could _never_ stand her _need_ to save people, to save _him – what a laughable idea!_), but it is definitely interesting.

So, his lips instantly quirk into a pleasant smile, and he sets his fork and knife down – Uni's finished her meal, she hardly eats despite his urgings – before tucking his fingers below his chin and lifts an eyebrow at her.

"Whatever does _that_ mean, Uni-chan?"

Uni's blue eyes glimmer, and Byakuran's eyebrows furrow. No, Uni's heart – it's not supposed to be there, he has made sure of it – can't be there. Impossible.

Then the glimmer disappears, and the dead look returns to them as she folds her arms over her tiny chest, her robes rustling with the movements.

"The key," she says, distantly, her posture still and stiff. "It will be the death of you, Byakuran-sama."

Byakuran smiles, for he knows which key Uni's referring to, and then he laughs, for the thought is too ludicrous to be real.

"Uni-chan, I think you've gotten it all wrong," he says after his laughter subsides a bit, "it's the lock that will twist and bend and break the _key_, not the other way around."

Uni's lips remain in a thin line, and she speaks no more.

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**v:** _i'm going to bury you to your neck in orchids_

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Byakuran's long, delicate, spidery fingers dance on Shouichi's cheek, not minding the tremble underneath them nor the damp feeling on the pale, cold skin.

A finger traces at Shouichi's lower lip, caresses at the nearly blue skin, relishing in the icy feeling before it moves away again, to Shouichi's cheekbone where the finger and its company stay, a thumb stroking excessively tenderly at the freezing skin.

Shouichi's eyes flutter, dull green eyes peeking out underneath the eyelids and lashes, and Byakuran hums in content – he's not surprised, he knows Shou-chan's limits better than the redhead himself.

It doesn't remove the fact that if the gaping, bleeding, _raw_ hole in Shouichi's side isn't fixed, his precious Shou-chan would die of blood loss.

Byakuran smiles down at Shouichi and Shouichi's dazed, _horrified_ expression, and promptly presses his knee against the wound on Shouichi's side. Shouichi's moan of pain – of _regret_ – satisfies him and his dark intentions, and Byakuran lowers himself until his lips brush against the cold skin.

(Cold and wet from tears; another sight Byakuran appreciates.)

(Shou-chan always makes the best expressions of them all.)

It really is too bad that Shou-chan's usefulness, like the sand in an hourglass, has trickled away.

"I'll bury you," Byakuran murmurs sweetly, sweeter than honey and marshmallows he likes to devour, "to your neck in orchids, Shou-chan." His lips curve into a prize-winning smile when he moves to steal a (first, last, everything in between) kiss from _his_ Shou-chan.

_It's just the end of the world, Shou-chan. _

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_I'm sure we'll meet again~._

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**Thank you for reading. **


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